


Of Hope and Hurt

by Adlerre



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25922524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adlerre/pseuds/Adlerre
Summary: Patsy messed up. She knows she did.
Relationships: Delia Busby/Patsy Mount
Kudos: 49





	Of Hope and Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! I hope you like it as much as I do. As always, adlerre over on tumblr.

In a snap it was over. 

In a snap her heart was taken, was broken, was missing. 

It has been a week now. A week spent trying not to listen out for a certain Welsh accent floating through the halls. A week spent hiding in the bathroom, staring at her reflection wondering how she could be so stupid as to let Delia go, pain coating the tears streaming. A week claiming allergies when Trixie's stare would find her reddened eyes. 

It wasn't supposed to be like this. 

They weren't supposed to have fought. They weren't supposed to have ended. They weren't supposed to be apart. 

But they were. 

In a snap it was over. 

Patsy had snapped. Had wanted too much to hold Delia's hand, had wanted too much to breathe her in, had wanted too much to be kept secret. So she snapped, more at herself than Delia. Had said the opposite of how she felt, had pulled away. 

And with a snap, Delia was gone. 

Delia was still around physically. Still laughed with Barbara at the breakfast table two seats now between them; Still read the paper on the stoop with Trixie going over the ins and outs of certain movies. But she wasn't there, not really. She wasn't in the kitchen waiting up for Patsy's late night returns, wasn't there in her arms when the world became too much, wasn't there beyond the pieces of Patsy's heart still bearing her name. 

It becomes unbearable but Patsy bears it. Thinks maybe it's for the best, maybe Delia finally realizes she deserves someone better. Someone not her. 

She thought it would hurt seeing her with someone else. She knew Delia had offers, doctors tripping over themselves at holiday parties come to mind. She knew it would hurt, would tear her apart. But she held out hope that her selfish hatred of whoever he would be would be drowned out by the knowledge that Delia would finally get the marriage she always wanted. Even if it didn't include her. 

Patsy isn't prepared. 

She isn't prepared for when the faceless man with white teeth holding Delia in her nightmares takes the real world shape of a woman. A blonde woman with dark eyes and a cheerful presence nearly matching Delia's own. 

Jenny. 

What kind of name is Jenny anyway? 

She's a nurse at The London that much is clear by the ever pressed uniform and Delia's new walking home companion. But Patsy knows the truth. She sees the way the blonde walks just a little too close to Delia's side, sees the smile hiked just a little too high, hears the laugh just a little too loud. 

It hurts. 

To top it off, Trixie has taken to Jenny as well. Nothing too heinous, but it stings nonetheless. She begins to talk about the duo, explains their plans as a reasoning for them to try the new dance hall without them. Says Delia is too busy to come anyway, might as well go just the two of them like old times. 

Trixie likes having her friend back. Patsy wishes she could have her's back. 

They run into each other on the way to the hall. Delia and the woman leaving a cafe as Trixie flounces on about the new man at the grocery store and his penchant for giving her free apples. Patsy listens, pretends to listen, but the world is so far from her mind when the pain sits so heavy. 

They run into each other on the way to the dance hall. The woman just a bit too close to Delia's side and she seems to shift just that much closer when they're introduced. 

"Hello." Delia had said, smile soft but present

Maybe Delia doesn't hurt as much as she does, Patsy's mind whispers, maybe it doesn't sting so much for her. Doesn't feel like the future that once stood so present, so shining, so right, has been ripped from her with nothing left but a picture in a box and painful hope. 

Patsy blinks back into the present, eyes landing anywhere but the blue calling to her. 

"We're heading to the dance hall. Well, I'm dragging Patsy, you know how she is." A nudge punctuates Trixie's words. It sends Patsy back to the past, back to Gateways, back to arm's clasped. She dares not look at Delia, not ready to see the lack of care. 

At the silence, Jenny speaks. 

"Sounds nice!" A shift closer. 

"Would you two like to join us?" 

A brief flicker of hope. Maybe she could steal Delia for an apology, a talk, a- a- something, anything. Patsy misses being in her space. Cozy and cared for all at once. 

"No." It comes out too sharp, Delia's accent barely softening the blow. "I mean-" A breath. "We're actually heading to a show right now." 

If flashes of close sitting, green, and a darkened theatre assault her mind, Patsy hopes the shadowing of the night hides it. 

"Oh. Anything in particular?" 

Curse Trixie and her talkative nature! 

"Some show Delia has been raving about. Subtitles and confusing metaphors galore, I'm sure." 

Jenny speaks for her. 

And it hurts. 

It seems like years since she's had Delia's voice directed at her. And in a moment she breaks. 

"Delia, do you think we can talk for a -"

But her voice is cut off, lost to the wind as Delia's eyes find hers. 

"Ah," Jenny cuts in, eyes finding Delia's, "Must be heading out now. It was nice seeing you." And if she only directs her words to Trixie, well, nothing can hurt more than the steady foot falls of Delia walking away. 

Again. 

She's a wallflower for the night. Glaring at anyone who veers anywhere near her personal space. Mind filtering through memories, then the present, then memories of waking up with Delia, walking the town with Delia at her side, to now. Alone on a dance floor. Alone while she walked away with another. 

How could she be so stupid. 

Trixie complains on the way home. Says she's not been much company. Maybe next time they'll get coffee before they go, give her a boost of energy to dance. 

How can she tell her it's not an exhaustion coffee can fix? How can she describe how heavy her heart is, how heavy her body feels with a heart in shambles in her chest. 

\---

"Why don't you like Jenny?"

The question comes out of the blue two nights later as Patsy stares through her book turning pages in a veiled attempt to pretend she sees anything beyond her turmoil. 

"Hm?" A page turn. 

"Jenny. Delia's Jenny. Why don't you like her?"

How can she explain that 'Delia's anyone else' is a pain too sharp to bear. 

"I don't know her well, haven't formed an opinion."

"You certainly seem like you have by the way you glare at her." A pause. "It's about as poignant as the glare you're giving that book, I'm shocked neither of them have lit up in flame yet."

"Hm." A dignified response. 

"I think she's good for her." And that hurts almost as much as Trixie's next words, "Delia was so low before they started spending time together. Do you know what may have happened? I tried to talk to her about it last week, she's been such a good listener to my things. But she wouldn't say."

She wants to tell her. Lay her heart bare. Ask for Trixie's advice. Make someone else know the torture she's going through. Have someone else know that Delia Busby was the best thing to ever happen to her and now she's lost her. Have someone else see how Jenny hurts her, hits her to the bone, makes her see green and red all at once. 

A breath. 

Three more.

"Well, at least she's feeling better now." 

_ That makes one of us, _ Patsy's mind whispers. Her reply is just a smile she hopes looks like agreement before she reopens her book, a random page blurring before her. 

She misses Trixie's raised brow. 

But more than anything, she misses Delia.

Trixie turns in for the night, flipping her blanket with an unnecessary flourish.

Moments pass. The silence is heavy. 

“Did I tell you Jack gave me more apples today?”

A hum is her only reply. 

“Two more than yesterday.”

\---

That Sunday she’s off for the day. Delia is too. They had plans to walk around the markets, get fish and chips by the pier, hold hands in Delia’s room, maybe even play cards if the house was empty. 

Plans that went out the window from a snap, from fear coated words spewing from her lips. 

She wakes up early, unable to sleep with the ache of hurt making itself known. Trixie needs to be up and out by 8am, a fact that leaves Patsy to fake sleep as her friend tiptoes around the room with grace and speed. She’s gotten used to faking sleep these days, the nights are the worst.

Nights are like a cold blade, twisting and turning in her stomach. If it’s not the nightmares, its the waking thoughts. The days are just as painful but work distracts, takes her attention, the pain running rampant in the background. 

She stays in bed watching the shadows on the wall shift with the wind and sun. 

Footsteps in the hall make her heart catch in her throat. She’s never memorized anyone’s steps with the ease she’s memorized Delia’s. It’s nearing 10, PAtsy can picture her. Her eyes are no doubt slightly closed, the exhaustion from the night shift not fully chased away. She walks down the stairs, sidestepping the creaky third step like always. She’ll be headed to the coffee pot for her dose of milky coffee and browse through the paper. 

It’s her chance. 

She’s finally alone. No Jenny. No nuns (they’re out for service today). No Trixie. No Barbara. No chance of anyone getting in the way. 

Patsy rushes down the stairs not willing to waste another moment. She hits the third step, the squeak no doubt alerting Delia to her presence. For a second she fears Delia might bolt. Her heart tightens at the thought. 

As she rounds the corner to the kitchen she gets flashes to past mutual days off. Delia sits at the table, eyes blurry, hair a bit askew, coffee held right under her nose as if breathing it in will aid in her wakefulness. Any other day Patsy would glance around, make sure the coast was clear, would run her hand over Delia’s shoulders and whisper good morning. Any other day their eyes would meet and the happiness would flow. 

Today their eyes don’t meet as much as Patsy tries to will Delia to look up. Apparently the wood grain of the table is far too interesting. 

Patsy, ever the stubborn soul, paints on a smile and greets her good morning. 

“Morning.” Is Delia’s response

Patsy busies herself with making a brew while her mind races to come up with something, anything, to say. Anything to make Delia meet her eyes, make Delia reply, make Delia love her again. 

“I miss you.” Maybe not that. “I miss you so much, Delia. We shouldn’t have to be like this.” 

Cat’s out of the bag, though it was a clear bag if there ever was one to begin with. 

A sigh. 

“Please, I don’t want it to be like this.” It’s a beg, a plea, a hope. 

Delia sets her mug down. Studying it as she runs her hand around the handle. 

“From what I heard, Pats, this is exactly what you wanted.” 

Watery blue eyes meet her own and it hurts almost as bad as not seeing them. 

“I would never… I could never want that. I love you.” 

She hopes beyond hope to hear it back. She waits, watching Delia’s eyes as she blinks and watches back. She hopes and she waits and wills, wills Delia to love her back. 

A deep breath and Delia’s mouth opens but instead of her voice coloring the air a knock at the door silences it. 

Patsy doesn’t break her gaze. Doesn’t let up, doesn’t want anyone to take up this space with them. For once she’s not afraid of being caught, for once the fear of losing Delia is far too much to fear anything else. 

But Delia straightens her back, pushes the mug away, and walks to the door. Walks away from her. 

And it’s Jenny. 

And it hurts more. 

And she fleas. Fleas to the garden, leaves so she can’t hear the footfalls leading away from her, can’t see the woman taking her place. 

She sits on the bench like they had so many times. Not ready to leave as the only place she wants to be is as near to Delia’s side as possible. Not ready to go inside as the only thing she can’t bare to see is the woman currently at Delia’s side. 

She’s stuck. 

And with a snap, the back door opens.

And with a step, blonde hair blows in the breeze. 

And with a stab, Jenny’s presence cuts deeper. 

“Why do you do this?” 

“I’m sorry?” Patsy questions, eyes plastered to just above Jenny’s right shoulder

“Why do you hurt her then run?” Her voice sounds tense, her presence intimidating in the way only trained nurses can be. Caring but stern. Soft but protective. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hope leaves her so steadily. The idea that Delia has someone who will fight for her helps nothing, not when she wants to do the same. 

Jenny gestures to the bench and with all the politeness ingrained in her, Patsy finds herself shifting to the side to create space. Hating herself as she does so. 

“I think,” A pause, Patsy notes Jenny’s gaze toward the kitchen window, “I think we both know what I’m talking about.” 

Hope fleas as the last shred of ‘maybe they’re just friends’ doubt dies. 

“I know you love her.”

And maybe before she would have stayed silent. Maybe she would have even tried to laugh off the truth. Maybe she would have switched the topic. But not now. It’s different now. 

Her eyes sting. 

“Of course I do.” 

No fear comes, just pain. Cold, numb, painful resolution that Delia moved on. 

Jenny doesn’t let her off the hook. Doesn’t walk away and leave Patsy to her turmoil as she takes Patsy’s place by Delia’s side. Instead she slumps, sighs as her back loses its nearly hidden tension. 

“She told me not to hate you, you know?” Jenny starts, nodding toward the window where Delia’s form can be slightly seen still at the table still staring at her mug. “She comes in, red eyed for days, shift after shift she’s not as bubbly, not herself.” A sigh. “You hurt her.”

All she can say is a whispered, “I know.”

“I told her I’d fight you, you know? Said I’d yell to the moon and back about how you should treat her, how she deserves so much more.” A chuckle. “‘No, Jen’, She’d say, ‘she’s allowed to not want me. It’s not her fault.’ She always defends you.”

The idea that Delia thinks she doesn’t want her cuts deep. Oh, how wrong she is. She wants her on a visceral level. Wants her at her side, wants her on her team, wants to show her every day how much she loves her. It’s just...life gets in the way, safety gets in the way, fear was a snap. 

“I -” But there’s nothing to say, nothing to say to Jenny anyway. 

“All I can say, all I can ask as the head of the Delia Busby fan club is this: if you love her, if you truly love her, tell her.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I assure you, it is. If you mean it and if you show it.” 

Patsy swallows. The emotions are too much, too big, too loud and Delia is still too far away. 

“Why are you helping me?”

A shrug. “Like I said, I’m the head of the Delia fanclub, I want to see her happy. You make her happy.” Another shrug, “When you’re not being a knobhead that is.” 

Somehow the insult doesn’t land, doesn’t hit. 

Her only thought is Delia and what this might mean. 

In seconds she’s walking and if it’s closer to a run then who could blame her, Delia’s waiting. 

She opens the door, checking for a second if she should keep it open for Jenny, relieved when she sees her still on the bench. 

“Delia,” A breath, “can we talk?”

The cup is still interesting.

“Haven’t you said enough?” 

“I haven’t said anything I meant, nothing I truly meant.”

“So when you said you couldn’t do this anymore?” The hurt in Delia’s eyes cuts deep as she meets Patsy’s earnest stare

“I-”

“What about when you said I should move out?”

“I never-”

“What else does ‘I need space’ mean, Patsy?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Could have fooled me.” 

“How could you ever think I wanted you gone. That I wanted to be without you?” Patsy’s eyes water as the emotions rush out, “I love you.”

Delia’s silence lingers. Her eyes meet the no-doubt cold cup, spinning it between her hands slowly. 

If she reached out, if Patsy took her hand, would she let her hold it? Let her still it? Let her back in?

“I guess- I guess I just don’t understand.” Her voice is soft but firm

“Don’t understand that I love you?” If anything, that hurts the most. She must know, must feel it. 

“I don’t understand how you can sit there and tell me you love me.” A breath, sharp eyes. “You tell me you love me when just a few weeks ago you told me that you needed space. That I’m too much. That you can’t stand to do this anymore. Those aren’t things you say to someone you love!” 

“I was afraid! Don’t you get it?!” 

“I get it,” Her once raised voice is calm, too calm, “I understand, Patsy.” And in the next second she’s standing and she’s moving away, headed for the door, ready to leave Patsy behind. 

Patsy blinks through the moisture trekking down her face, follows Delia to the living area, tries to catch her before she gets to the door.

“Please, please don’t do this. I can’t bear it!” She begs, hands shaking as she wants nothing more than to reach out for the woman she loves, “I’ll try harder, I will.”

“It’s not about that, Patsy.” Delia says, turning slightly around as she pauses in the hall, “I know you’re scared, I know you want us to be safe. But you don’t trust me, not enough to know I would never put us in danger.” 

“It’s not you I’m worried about!” And if her voice is raised it’s due to desperation, if it strains against her throat coming out raspy blame it on the tears. 

“Well explain it to me then, Patsy. Tell me how pushing me away is about anything other than that.” 

There’s no time for breathing, for thinking, for second guessing her words.

“That’s not it at all- I-”

The door’s creak of being opened causes Delia to shift away from it as to not be bumped by Trixie’s entering. 

“What’s-” A pause as Trixie’s eyebrows feral, reading the room. Soon she places herself beside Patsy, a united front she doesn’t want. “What’s going on here?” 

“Nothing, nothing at all.” Delia rasps out, her own voice gravel as she swallows. “Jenny and I were just leaving.” 

Trixie’s stare holds as Jenny’s form walks into view of the door’s window. 

It’s a moment. A pivotal moment. In a second Delia could be gone, traipsing around the city on the arm of this woman. In a moment she could be in Delia’s past.

“No, Delia, stay.” Her voice breaks on her name

Delia doesn’t speak, but Trixie does. A protective “Let her go, she obviously hurt you” falls from Trixie’s mouth. 

Jenny steps forward, hearing the words. 

“Stop. Stop!” Patsy calls, pushing past Trixie to stand before Delia, “Don’t you dare say she hurt me when I hurt her more.” A pause. A moment in time for their eyes to meet. “I love you.” 

It’s said and the world keeps spinning. 

It’s said and blue eyes lose their frost. 

It’s said and Trixie steps back in shock, hand coming to her mouth. 

It’s said and Jenny stays put, giving her friend the space to stay or run. 

It’s said and Patsy reaches out, hand all but begging to meet Delia’s own. 

“You- Uh- You know you just said-” Delia starts, eyes wide as they move past Patsy’s shoulder to Trixie’s face

"That I love you, yes and I don't care who heard it.” Patsy rushes out, willing Delia to meet her eyes, “The thought of losing you is a thousand times scarier than saying those words for the world to hear."

A tear follows the trail down Delia’s cheek as she reaches out, meeting Patsy’s hand.

“I love you too, you fool.”

Hands clasped tight, it mends with a kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it as much as I do. As always, adlerre over on tumblr. I have a few more ideas in the work for pupcake so let me know if you want to see more :)


End file.
